Left Behind
by Irrelevancy
Summary: It was all Their fault. They made Antonio forget, forget His World, Our World. Forget Romano. Spain/Romano, Angst.


**A/N: My first piece of completed Hetalia fanfiction! I never thought it'd be Spain/Romano, but, eh, what can I say.**

**For you, My Queen. ;)**

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Romano wanted to punch Antonio in the face.

It was stupid, since it wasn't even Antonio's fault in the first place. It was Them. The other two. The other two who doesn't trust Antonio. It was completely Their fault, but Romano wanted to punch Antonio anyways.

Because Antonio believed them.

The world They lived in, Their World must be pretty terrible, that Francis and Gilbert turned out the way they did, and they had the _gall_ to say Antonio was wrong? The self-righteous bastards that dragged Antonio from Romano's world. _Our World_, Antonio had called it, back when he still held Romano, spoke to Romano, _acknowledged_ Romano. Our World... Romano wanted him back. He wanted Antonio back.

"You stupid, stupid bastard," Romano whispered, before scoffing when he remembered that Antonio couldn't hear him anyways, slumped beneath him, fast asleep. He bit his bottom lip, hard, and glared down at Antonio's serene expression. Did he not sense Romano's anguish? Had he truly forgotten Romano?

Romano's fist was up in the air before he knew it, clenched so tightly that the nails digging into his palm formed little white moons on his skin, like the one grinning outside the window. Antonio didn't like closing the curtains Gilbert's girlfriend (the nice one with the long brown hair and pretty eyes) gave to him when he slept. When Romano asked why one night, he said he would feel closed off to the world outside, suffocated in a biased space. Romano couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason Antonio had forgotten him, because the world outside changed Our World, changed Antonio.

The punch didn't land, _couldn't_ land, and Romano's teeth were mashed together so hard his jaw ached. Maybe this was all a bad dream. A bad dream that Antonio dreamt up, and Romano went along with unwittingly. It wouldn't be the first time.

_How do I wake up from a bad dream?_ Antonio had asked, in their little sanctuary cave, hiding from the stampeding green elephants. Romano had shrugged.

_You kill yourself._

Antonio had dreamt up a furnace, and they held hands when they walked through the door.

Maybe that's what Romano had to do now.

But this wasn't his dream (God forbid Romano ever dream up something like this - if he could dream at all in the first place), and last time he checked, Antonio didn't keep anything remotely lethal in his bedroom, unless Romano wanted to bash his head against the closet door until he died. He wouldn't be able to kill himself here. He could, however, make sure that this was a dream. Soothe his nerves until Antonio woke up, then beat the crap out of the Spanish teen then. That was a good idea.

With a deep breath, Romano reached to pinch himself, but stopped when he remembered.

_I'd never let you get hurt, Lovi,_ Antonio had murmured, gunpowder and blood and death thick on his breath. Romano had clutched desperately at his fingers, unscathed. _Not if I can help it._

_I don't care,_ Romano had snarled, ripping a gun away from the hands of a corpse, one of too many in the battlefield around them, holding it up to his temple, pulling the trigger.

_My dream,_ Antonio had laughed when Romano howled with rage when the empty chamber clicked hollow. _My rules._

It wouldn't hurt if this was Antonio's dream. Romano breathed again, watched Antonio sleep on steadily, and twisted the skin of his forearm.

The pain was almost too much to bear.

He stumbled down from his perch on Antonio's bed, and Romano screamed then, screamed at Them, at Antonio, at the unfairness of it all. He screamed at the table, for its corners not being sharp enough to fall and hurt and maybe die on. He screamed at the moon for grinning down at him, white hope against the black sky mocking him. He screamed at the shadows that just wouldn't blanket over him, smother him.

_Not if Antonio could help it._

"Lovi?"

It would hurt too much to see Antonio right now, brown hair ruffled, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, adorable. Romano couldn't deal with falling in love with Antonio again right now. So instead, he just screamed.

"You said you loved me!"

Tears of fury, of anguish, of all the hurt inside him spilled from the corners of Romano's eyes, and he glared pain and death at the dresser doors.

"_I_ loved you!"

"Lovi-"

"I _love_ you!"

The words were foreign and hopeful on Romano's tongue, and he knew it had the same effect on Antonio. Maybe Antonio would come back, if he said it again. Maybe if he reminded Antonio who they were, _what _they were, Antonio would come back.

"I was your lover..."

"Lovi..."

Antonio spoke his name in the same pained, hushed tone he used when he told Francis the truth about him and Romano, explained to Romano why he couldn't see him anymore, and Romano couldn't take it anymore. He needed to understand why. He needed to know Antonio's answer. With the tears washing away all the shadow in his eyes, Romano turned to face Antonio, and froze.

Antonio was crying. Antonio was crying at a spot somewhere left of Romano, staring hard.

"I was your _friend_!" Romano screamed as loud as he could, the last word cracking with what seemed like his whole being, when Antonio leaned forward, like he was listening hard for the remnants of a dying whisper.

"Yes," Antonio choked, and Romano broke down into loud, silent sobs. "Yes, Lovi, but you're just my imaginary friend."

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**A/N: Yes, on that happy note. x'3**

**I really really really REEEEAAAALLY like reviews~!**


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